


Cassius' Scavenger Hunt and Other Adventures

by chollarcho



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Utterly Ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chollarcho/pseuds/chollarcho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Behind the scenes of "Someone Else's Problems" by asocialconstruct.  </p><p>Cassius is given a challenging task by Encke.  Puck is helpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asocialconstruct](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asocialconstruct/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Someone Else's Problems](https://archiveofourown.org/works/644846) by [asocialconstruct](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asocialconstruct/pseuds/asocialconstruct). 



When Encke, red-faced and scowling, asked Cassius to find condoms for him, Cassius was more than happy to oblige.  Theoretically, more sex meant less energy meant fewer laps for all the fighters.  
  
With this noble goal in mind, Cassius went straight to Keeler’s office and signaled to Puck.  “Conference room,” he mouthed.  
  
“Five minutes,” Puck mouthed back.  
  
A few minutes later they squeezed into a nearby storage closet.  This was their ‘conference room,’ where they went to actually get some liaising done between the fighters and navigators.  It was difficult to work with Encke and Keeler dancing around each other, flirting awkwardly, sometimes getting lots of work done, sometimes getting nothing done.  If not for this conference room, the _Sleipnir_ ’s flight teams would have been in constant disarray.  
  
“If we moved out the brooms and...everything else, do you think we could fit a couple of stools in here?” Puck wondered, as he wedged himself between a stack of buckets and a shelving unit filled with spare light bulbs.  
  
“I think maybe we should get a real conference room.  Maybe Encke’s office.  He never does any work in there anyway,” Cassius grumbled.  He was standing on a supply crate, boxed in by pipes that zigzagged up the walls.  
  
“So what’s up?  You didn’t send me an agenda.”  
  
“This is unofficial business, completely off the record.  Encke asked me to find condoms.”  
  
Puck burst into laughter.  “Hahaha!  Oh, poor Encke.  Bet it took him a week to work up to asking.”  
  
“I don’t know, he looked pretty desperate,” Cassius chuckled.  “I’m hoping he’ll mellow out a bit if he gets laid.”  
  
“Way too stressed, yeah,” Puck giggled.  “Keeler’s the same.  Well, Cass, it’s your lucky day.  I’ll rustle up some condoms in no time.”  
  
“Thanks, Puck,” Cassius said, relieved.  
  
“No problem.  Meet me here at 1300 hours.”  Puck started to dislodge himself.  His back hit the stack of buckets and sent them toppling across the doorway, hitting the pipes with a loud _clang!_  Cassius cringed at the reverberations around him.  
  
“We’re trapped!” Puck gasped.  
  
“Just move the buckets, here, stack them up again,” Cassius said, ears still ringing.  They both bent to grab the buckets and their heads smacked together.  
  
“Owww!” Puck squealed.  “Cass, that hurt!”  
  
Cassius glared at him, wincing as a stinging pain tingled on the top of his head.  “What the hell, Puck?  Your head is sharp!”  
  
“What? No—oh, I have a piercing in my scalp,” Puck recalled.  
  
Eventually, no thanks at all to Puck, they freed themselves and parted ways.  “1300 hours!” Puck chirped as he trotted off to be a menace elsewhere.  Cassius went to examine the damage done to his crown.  
  
\--  
  
“You stand on the crate this time,” Cassius decided that afternoon.  He had an adhesive bandage stuck to his head over the scrape from Puck’s stupid piercing, and he didn’t want any more conference room-related injuries.  “Find anything?”  
  
“Yep,” Puck said cheerfully, shifting slightly to pull a bulky object from his jacket.  “ _Et voilà!_ ” he cried, holding aloft a hideous box.  
  
Cassius took it and examined the garish orange and green design with red lettering:   ** _SUURI LAATIKKO KONDOMEJA!  48 IHMEELLINEN KONDOMIA!_**  The box exuded a sense of frantic, unpleasant urgency.  “Wow.  Where did you find this?”  
  
“Kepler had it, but he says they don’t fit Ptolemy.  It doesn’t have very many left, though.  Do you think Ptolemy kept trying them on because he thought his dick would grow to fit them, like how a goldfish grows to fit its bowl?”  
  
“Uh, no comment,” Cassius muttered, preferring not to compare a senior officer’s genitals to fish.  He peeked inside the box and confirmed that there weren’t more than ten of the condoms remaining.  “Not enough to keep them occupied for long.  I’ll have to find some more,” he decided.  
  
“Oh, there’s no need.  I bought, like, a dozen boxes on shore leave a couple months ago,” Puck said casually.  
  
Cassius stared at him.  Instead of inquiring whether Oberon was getting enough sleep, he asked, “Mind contributing some?”  
  
Puck smiled slyly, as impish as his namesake.  “You want to play a game?”  
  
Because saying ‘no’ never worked, Cassius said, “Yes.”  
  
“I’ll hide the condoms around the ship, and you can find them!” Puck said excitedly.  “It’ll be so much fun.  Also, Keeler indicated that he’s not quite ready to go further.”  
  
“This will give him a couple days at least,” Cassius sighed.  “Puck, I’m shit at scavenger hunts.  Can you give me some clues when you hide them?”  
  
“I’ll drop a hint or few,” Puck teased him.  “Well, I’m off to girdle the _Sleipnir_ , length and width, height and everything in between, scattering condoms as I go.”  
  
“Couldn’t you just hide them all in the mess, or maybe in my room—” Cassius tried, but there was no reasoning with Puck, who hurried out of the conference closet with an evil little grin.  Cassius bid farewell to his free time for the foreseeable future.  
  
\--  
  
For the rest of the day, and two days after that, Cassius juggled his work and Puck’s condom-hunt.  After he found the first condom stuck to the underside of Encke’s chair (happily, Encke was not in the chair when Cassius thought to look under it), he spent a lot of time sticking his head under desks, chairs, computer consoles, tables in the mess, towering ladders in the hangars, starfighters, even urinals in the restrooms.  This method of searching yielded twelve condoms.  
  
Occasionally Puck sent him a message, ostensibly a cryptic clue, but Puck wasn’t very good at being cryptic.   _Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m lean and hungry, how about you?_ sent Cassius to the galley, where he ransacked the cupboards and pantries until he found four condoms in a gigantic canister of flour and five more floating in a pot of vegetable stock.  
  
 _A box of condoms sat on a wall, a box of condoms had a great fall, all the men in central command, couldn’t put the box together again_ unsubtly directed him to Central, where he loitered in the restroom nearby until the officers inside went to lunch.  A quick search revealed a condom stuck to the back of all the Central staff’s tablets.  Cassius made a round of the workstations, stuffing the condoms in his pockets as he went, and narrowly avoided several assistants who returned from lunch early.  
  
Back at his console, he put the handful of condoms from Central in the box (hidden in the recess behind his monitor), and checked his tablet.  Yes, another ‘clue’ from Puck popped up in his messages:   _One little piggy went to market, one little piggy stayed home, one little piggy went ‘Wee wee wee!’ all the way home._  
  
A moment later, Puck sent him another message.   _Just in case you have a hard time cracking that clue, here’s another… I can see London, I can see France, and I can see your underpants!_  
  
Cassius rolled his eyes and went to search the nearest restroom, where he found more condoms stuck under the sinks and urinals, replacing the ones he had already found.  A navigator walked in on him crouching beneath a sink, picking tape from the back of a condom.  They stared at each other, unblinking, until the navigator backed out of the restroom.  Cassius shrugged and resumed his search.  
  
\--  
  
Over the course of the hunt, Cassius found forty condoms, bringing the total in the box to an even fifty.  That amount seemed like enough to keep Encke and Keeler busy for…three weeks?  Four?  And that would give Cassius and Puck enough time to devise a plan for smuggling a bulk shipment of condoms aboard the _Sleipnir_.  
  
He sent Puck a message:   _I found 40.  Any more?_  
  
Puck replied, _That’s all of them!  Did you wipe off the vegetable stock so mold wouldn’t grow in the box?_  
  
 _Yeah.  Btw, I’m not going to eat soup in the mess for a week now._  
  
 _:) Fun game, maybe we can play it again sometime!_  
  
Cassius decided that next time, he would be the one to hide the condoms and Puck could go hunting instead.  
  
\--  
  
He handed the box to Encke with a smart salute.  Encke gruffly thanked him, and Cassius, hiding a smile, left him to overcome his embarrassment in private.  As he shut the door to Encke’s office, he saw Puck passing by, who raised his eyebrows questioningly.  
  
“Mission accomplished,” Cassius mouthed.  
  
Puck grinned and reached out for a high-five.

The end.


	2. Epilogue:  Poor Praxis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHAT IF...Puck had actually hidden 41, or perhaps Cassius miscounted and only found 39 of 40?? WHAT IF...that missing one turned up weeks later, after the arrival of the flight teams from the station?? These burning questions and more answered in this episode of “chollarcho writes all crackfic all the time.”
> 
> (This drabble is dedicated to awkward Praxis. May he be less awkward.)

Praxis was trying to be a better flight partner.  Ethos had had a long talk with him, full of feelings and guilt-trips, and it had been enough for Praxis to acknowledge that he had not been pulling his weight as Ethos’ teammate.  So when Ethos caught a terrible cold not long after they transferred to the _Sleipnir_ , Praxis made a point of being helpful.  
  
Ethos had spent day two of the cold leaking gunk from his nose and coughing up as much phlegm as possible.  Praxis smiled weakly at him that evening and set a tray from the mess on his bed.  “I asked for extra applesauce and potatoes.  Are you feeling any better?”  
  
“My left nostril stopped running,” Ethos croaked.  “Thanks for the food, I’m kinda hungry.”  
  
“No problem.”  While Ethos ate, Praxis busied himself with trying to find pictures of Abel on the internet.  
  
Ethos only wanted the mashed potatoes.  As he shoveled them into his mouth, his spoon hit a solid object in the bowl.  Plastic crinkled as he poked it again.   _A pack of salt_ , he thought, and began to dig it out.  
  
But it wasn’t salt.  It was a cheap, cinnamon-flavored condom.  
  
Ethos looked up at Praxis apprehensively.  Praxis frowned down at his tablet, to all appearances utterly absorbed, but now Ethos knew better.  All of Praxis’ gruff, anti-social behavior suddenly made sense, sort of.  Ethos felt bad that he had to reject awkward, shy Praxis, but it just wasn’t meant to be.  
  
“I’m not into you like that,” he said gently.  “I think it’s best if we just stay friends.”  
  
Praxis looked up from his tablet.  “What?” he asked absently.  
  
“We should stay friends.”  At Praxis’ raised eyebrow, Ethos lifted the mashed potato-covered condom.  “Without benefits,” he added, to be perfectly clear.  
  
“What’s that--ohhh!”  Praxis’ good eye widened.  “I didn’t put that there!” he protested.  “I swear, I just picked up a tray in the mess--”  
  
Ethos shook his head and tossed the condom into Praxis’ lap  “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.  Better luck next time.”  
  
“Wait, no, why do you think I would stick a condom in mashed potatoes?  That’s a terrible idea--”  
  
“I know,” Ethos interrupted, sounding congested again.  “Let me know when you have a new crush and I’ll help you find a better way to ask him out.  For now, I really need to sleep.”  
  
Ethos passed out shortly, and Praxis spent the evening staring at the mysterious condom and trying to clean mashed potato stains from his crotch.

  
The end.


	3. Special Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...idk.
> 
> eta: fixed a bunch of stupid typos. Apologies. ;_;

Cassius was just beginning his lunch hour, when his tablet beeped frantically and a message from Puck appeared on the screen:   _Conference room right now, EMERGENCY!_  
  
He spat out his mouthful of chowder.  Most ended up back in the bowl, but some plopped into Galileo’s soup.  “Sorry!” Cassius barked.  “I’ve gotta go, it’s an emergency!”  
  
Not amused, Galileo watched him jump up from the bench with his tablet.  “Tray," he said frostily.  
  
“Can’t you—argh, fine.”  Cassius spun back around, grabbed the tray, and slung it at the dishwashing bin on his way to the door.  The bowl of chowder turned the gray water orange.  
  
Galileo struggled with his compulsion to not eat food that had already been in someone else’s mouth, as well as his reluctance to waste food.  Copernicus found him a while later, still seated before a bowl of congealed chowder.  
  
\--  
  
By the end of the day, several crewmembers would probably file complaints about Cassius, who knocked and shoved them out of the way as he sprinted down corridors, paced impatiently in the lift, and finally arrived at the conference supply closet.  Encke would probably let him off, though, since it was an emergency, he reasoned.  
  
“I’m here!” Cassius bellowed, slamming his palm against the supply closet’s access panel.  The door swished open, revealing a grinning Puck.  
  
Puck flapped both hands frantically, beckoning him inside.  “Come look, come look!”  
  
“What’s the emergency?” asked Cassius desperately, darting inside.  
  
“Oh, I just wanted you to stop by right away and see the makeover,” Puck said blithely.  
  
“There’s no emergency?”  
  
“I guess it depends on how you would define an emergency,” Puck replied philosophically.  
  
“ _There’s no emergency?_  I’m missing my lunch hour!” Cassius snarled, infuriated.  
  
“I think it was an emergency how cramped this closet was, but I suppose _you_ didn’t consider that an emergency, since you haven’t noticed any difference!” Puck snapped back.  
  
Breathing through his nose and counting backward from two hundred (working with Puck required mastery of numerous coping techniques), Cassius looked around and realized that the closet _was_ different.  “Wait, where’d all the cleaning supplies go?”  
  
“I found some space in a few other closets.  The rest is in Encke’s office.  He won’t mind, right?”  
  
“Nah,” Cassius said absently.  “Stools and a standing desk?  Wait, weren’t the walls white before?”  
  
“Nice, isn’t it?  Initially I picked Productivity Blue, but Work Ethic Green seems calmer.  Plus it goes better with the carpet.”  
  
Cassius stared open mouthed at the plush, royal blue carpeting, already covered with deep footprints from their boots.  “Where did you get this stuff?” he asked finally.  
  
“I contacted a maintenance guy I know who came with the new flight teams.  Brought it in with the supply shipment—usually it’s for officer quarters, but there’s always a little extra paint or carpet left.”  
  
“Fuck, Puck, this is amazing!  We have a real conference room now!”  Cassius hopped onto one of the stools and set his tablet on the desk, his anger forgotten.  
  
Puck perched himself on the other stool.  “Well, technically the ventilation is inadequate, so we have to open the door every ten minutes for five minutes or we’ll pass out.”  
  
“Good enough for me.  Thanks, Puck.”  
  
“No need to thank me, especially if you help me out with a special project for Keeler.”  Puck managed to make his eyes look twinkly (the new lampshade and a brighter light bulb helped with that).  “I even brought food!”  
  
Cassius’ stomach rumbled.  “Fine.  What food, and what project?”  
  
Puck unpacked a few containers from his satchel.  There were peanut butter and banana and marshmallow sandwiches, whole carrots, and a tub of heavily flavored popcorn.  “Lunch _à la_ Puck!” Puck said majestically.  
  
It occurred to Cassius that Puck’s slight stature was perhaps the result of malnutrition.  “Hasn’t Oberon taught you anything about cooking?"  
  
“We don’t have time for cooking lessons!  Way too busy with...other lessons,” Puck said evasively.  “Anyway, listen up.  Keeler needs some help with Encke.”  
  
“He’s been signing all the forms you give me—”  
  
“No, remember how we found them some condoms and had so much fun in the process?” Puck asked with a fond sigh.  
  
Cassius glared at him.  “Uh, yeah, that was barely a month ago.  I’m not doing that again.  No way they’ve run out yet.”  
  
“No, no, Keeler needs some help in the intimacy department.”  
  
“That’s a department?”  Cassius took a bite of the peanut butter-banana-marshmallow sandwich and found that Puck had added a little more salt to the peanut butter.  Not bad.  
  
“Yeah!  Much like this former supply closet, his intimacy department is full of crap, and he just needs some help clearing it out and applying a fresh coat of paint, so to speak!”  
  
“And blue carpeting?  Puck, you of all people should know how dangerous it can be to dye your hair down there—”  
  
“I’m speaking metaphorically!”  
  
“So we’re going to metaphorically help Keeler?”  
  
“No, we’re going to _actually_ help Keeler by watching excerpts of porn and recommending some videos to him.” Puck ignored Cassius’ shell-shocked expression and began setting up his laptop on the desk.  
  
A half-chewed banana slice fell from Cassius’ open mouth before he recovered enough to protest:  “Puck, _no_ , that is _not_ a good idea, that’s a _terrible_ idea—how are we supposed to report this time?  ‘Viewed porn at request of superior officer’—Puck, we’re going to get fired, and Keeler too!”  
  
“We don’t have to report this time at all, because it’s our lunch hour!” Puck said cheerfully.  “Now, what should we start with?”  
  
“Oh my god.  Are you actually going to play these on your Alliance laptop?”  
  
“Pfft, Cook doesn’t care.  I found half of these discs in Central anyway.”  Puck frowned at the data discs stacked on the desk.  “Actually, some might belong to Copernicus and Bering.”  
  
Cassius stuffed his mouth full of marshmallow and started counting backwards from one thousand.  
  
\--  
  
“This is really good, surprisingly. What’s in it?” Cassius munched on another handful of popcorn.  
  
“Dried apples and mangos. It’s the only way I eat popcorn,” Puck mumbled, spewing crumbs across the desk.  “Okay, let’s try another.  This one has too much hair-flipping.”  
  
“Keeler flips his hair a lot, though,” Cassius observed.  “Won’t that help him identify with the actress?”  He was hardly able to comprehend that he had agreed to help Puck with this ridiculous ‘special project,’ but he was doing his best.  
  
“No, it’s his _thing_.  If you had a thing, wouldn’t you want to preserve the illusion that it was only your thing?”  
  
“I guess.  Pass the cinnamon.”  
  
Puck handed him the shaker, while pawing through the remaining discs with his other, popcorn-sticky hand.  “What about this one?   _Around the World in Eighty Ways_.”  
  
Cassius made a face.  “Encke says Keeler isn’t really into period stuff.  They tried watching some Shakespeare thing and Keeler fell asleep.”  
  
“I wouldn’t want to watch Shakespeare getting it on either.  He’s almost a thousand years old.”  Puck tossed a disc back into his satchel.  “No zombie porn.  Good idea.”  
  
“Where did you find zombie porn?”  
  
“Central.”  
  
Cassius tried to not think about the commanders watching zombie porn, possibly together, while Copernicus took notes or something.  “Lunch is almost over.  Let’s review our progress,” he suggested.  “We’ve tried men with men, men with women, women with women, everybody with everybody, and people with food or inanimate objects.”  
  
“My favorite so far is the one with the guy and the muesli.  Not the sexiest, but it got me thinking about, like, the universe and why we’re here, you know?”  
  
“Existentialist porn isn’t going to help Keeler,” Cassius pointed out.  “I think we should stick to something simple.”  He sorted through the discs and picked out the softest videos with the least props.  “Minimize plot contrivances, focus on gentle acts of intimacy.  Sound good?”  
  
“Yeah—oh, we need to open the door again, it’s been ten minutes.”  
  
Cassius shut Puck’s laptop just as Puck opened the door.  “I wish you’d turn off the porn before opening the door,” he complained for the fourth time.  
  
A navigator passed by their conference room at that moment and looked inside with wide eyes.  
  
“Hi, Bazin!  Just working on a special project for the lieutenant,” Puck chirped.  
  
Bazin smiled weakly and continued down the corridor.  
  
“Fantastic,” Cassius whispered sourly.  
  
“Anyway,” Puck whispered back, “I think your selection is good.  I’ll give them to Keeler to try, and I will let you know if he needs us to find something else.”  
  
“Glad to help,” Cassius sighed.  
  
\--  
  
Cassius took some of the leftover popcorn to Encke’s office after lunch, since it _was_ pretty good.  He knocked on the door and called, “Lieutenant?  Puck made some popcorn, do you—”  
  
The door opened.  Encke glowered at him, blocking the doorway, and then stepped aside to let Cassius in.  
  
Cassius edged inside and pretended to not notice the mounds of cleaning supplies that now took up half of the small office.  “Want some popcorn while you work on those reports?  It’s tasty,” he said bravely.  
  
“Thank you.  I would like the popcorn,” Encke said slowly, dangerously.  “I would also like you to find Puck and have him move all of this crap out of my office.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Cassius sighed, giving the popcorn to Encke and taking leave.  He and Puck could probably fit the supplies in a few restroom stalls.  Moving everything would be annoying, but he’d never reveal the secret of their much-improved conference room.  
  
The whatever end.


End file.
